


by virtue of caution

by kinglychan (avius)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Communication, Getting Together, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, It’s actually quite fluffy, I’ll add as I go - Freeform, M/M, Non AU, but like not really relationship-related angst, deals with some Issues, idolverse, predebut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19238938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avius/pseuds/kinglychan
Summary: the history of secrets (or not-so-secrets) in the gaps between two boys (or not-yet-men). inspired by alright by seungkwan ft vernon.“close the doordon't exhale untilthe handle horizontalsand the lock clicksblink rapidlydon't reach outuntil your eyes have adjustedto the beasts behind youand untilthe darkness aheadfades to the eyesin front of you”





	1. dexterous distraction

**Author's Note:**

> this work is not by any means planned to be chaptered, but is a chronological step through of an alt-canon version of vernon and seungkwan’s relationship. i do not intend to override the important narrative that already exists, but i do love the pair as my muse. updates only when i’m inspired.

It starts out in the open, because what fear does a secret harbour without a single person knowing. Vernon told him once, in a room of four green walls and consumed by a lingering stench of adolescent sweat, that he could tell Seungkwan was going to become his favourite person the moment they had met.

That night, three months after he had begun his training in Seoul and two hours after their conversation, Seungkwan did not stop thinking. The seemingly simple conversation plagued him, despite his aching muscles and tired brain from yet another day of school followed by practice, as he dragged himself to a nearby convenience store. The chilled glass of the opened fridge door seeps condensation into his sleeve, bleeding cold into his shoulder. His eyes flutter blankly between two very similar cartons of caramel milk, mind fluttering much faster between the words echoing in his head. Vernon's voice, a force gaining steady permanence in his mind like a lighthouse high on a cliff, isn't insistent as the refrigerated chill that breathes steadily against his eyelashes. Seungkwan is already used to his calming voice, never forceful but always there, always rasped by pubescent gruff and braces-induced lisp. The degree of consistency that has arisen in the past few months is startling to Seungkwan in this moment. So far, he'd been distracted by the upheaval of every other constant he had clung to, his bed and his mother's cooking and his sisters' bickering and his old classmates and his regular routine. Without noticing, and also without discomfort, Vernon had eased his way between these cracks and solidified into stability under his soles. It shouldn't have been alarming, therefore, after Seungkwan had laughed out an offhanded comment that the other must simply despise him, that Vernon simply told him the widely accepted truth between the two of them. He had known, as had Seungkwan, from the moment they met, they would eventually become each other's favourite bandmate. They were the same age after all and, while this was steadily inching away, the same height, and it was always easiest to seek comfort in the easiest, most familiar, of smiles. But as they had grown alongside each other, even in a short three months, they had learned that other similarities between them were a little harder to come by. Seungkwan was a lot more similar to Seokmin or Soonyoung, and bonded quickly with Mingyu and Jihoon despite their bickering. And yet, Seungkwan searching as hard as he could as his glazed eyes scanned the shelf of drinks, he simply couldn't disagree with Vernon's words. Undoubtedly, if Seungkwan were to wish for someone to tell him a joke, or pass him hot soup, or turn a cold shoulder at when gruffy, or fiddle nervously beside whilst he spilled every fear he'd ever felt, Seungkwan would chose Vernon. Every time. Seungkwan chokes on his own spit, fingers fumbling for the first chilled milk he touches, and burrows that thought a lot deeper than many other things. The rubber seal of the chilled wall stutters as it slams but Seungkwan just turns on his heel and moves to the checkout. It's not the information itself that scares Seungkwan -- if he'd bothered to be honest with himself and pause for a moment to actually think, he's known this for a while-- but instead by the implications. People are more likely flawed than not and now Seungkwan has gone and placed his entire life in the investment of one person. It's all too much for his sixteen year-old brain, but in some ways -- he supposes as he makes minimal eye-contact with the cashier and fumbles for a few crumpled notes from his hoodie pocket -- that's the point of adolescence. The walk back to the dorm is quiet, other than late-night diners feasting in windows and strolling the streets on full stomachs. He passes a pair with their bodies glued side-by-side, from shoulder to hand to hip, and it stings only lightly as he has to side step them in order to continue on his way. He's too engrossed in avoiding thoughts that his feet find his way there simply with muscle memory (yet another constant he'd barely noticed). By the time he toes off his shoes by the door to the dorm, he's no more privy to the swirling of his gut. The hushed bickering from the open bathroom door does little to affect him, but he finds his room and the pajamas tucked under the pillow before he realises it's Vernon's voice that echoes down the elsewise quiet hallway. The three steps to the hallway take more labour than the entire walk to his late night detour. His limbs are so heavy, breathing halting in his chest in anticipation. Seungkwan’s socked-feet slip slightly on the hardwood as the door to the bathroom opens. Chan’s bright face is slightly flushed with old laughter but the glint in his eyes as they meet Seungkwan’s seem to hold a greater truth.

“Goodnight, Seungkwannie-hyung,” he smiles toothily, eyes blinking slowly with sleepiness. Seungkwan just nods, offers whichever pieces of his tired smile he can afford to offer, and squeezes his shoulder when the younger passes by. 

Seungkwan tries to tell himself he’s only there to brush his teeth and wash his face, but as soon as he notices he’s hovering by yet another door, caught up in yet another emotion, he hurries in with a blank agenda. 

Vernon is bouncing from toe to toe, froth-covered lips babbling ineligible lyrics as he brushes his teeth. Seungkwan wants desperately to hold something, (a hand in his own, a moment in its place, a memory in his heart), and the door handle is right there, but he can’t bear the thought of four walls and two boys and nothing but the words between them. When Vernon turns and notices the other, the dull LED of the bathroom light spills into the hallway, Seungkwan’s heart alongside it. 

Vernon doesn’t flinch, just holds out his free hand and tugs Seungkwan in from the doorway by the pocket of his hoodie. They stand in silence until Vernon spits into the sink and lets Seungkwan access the basin. 

“You’re back,” Vernon says. Seungkwan wonders if the boy’s wild imagination had somehow conjured the image of Seungkwan hopping on the first flight back to Jeju Island, ranting about over affectionate boys with dumb smiles and American names. “Seungcheol-hyung panicked when I told him you just went for a walk.”

Seungkwan tries to shake the guilt with an overzealous hip check. “Miss me that much, Hansolie?”

Vernon shoves Seungkwan’s toothbrush in his mouth to shut him up. Vernon’s blushing just a little, mainly on his ears, and the only thought that breaks through into the clearing of the overgrown forest in Seungkwan’s head is that he wouldn’t mind making him blush even more. He loads his brush with paste, grateful for the dexterous distraction. Seungkwan buries his spare hand in his hoodie pocket, feet rocking slightly, trying, without need, to pretend he isn’t watching the hands that scrub his face and flitter at his fringe. Once Vernon pulls his hands away from his face, their eyes meet in the mirror but Seungkwan doesn’t feel caught out or guilty or embarrassed like he probably should do. Vernon just cracks a grin.

“I know you love the dramatics, Kwannie, but please talk to me before you wander off again, okay?” 

Seungkwan doesn’t want to look at him anymore, stubbornly averting his gaze to the reflection of his own dumb face. Vernon huffs a laugh and shuffles up behind him, tucking his chin over Seungkwan’s shoulder and reigniting their shared gaze. The tips of his wet fringe press against Seungkwan’s neck.

“I really want to know what’s going on, so while you have your time out, I don’t spend mine worrying,” he says softly, and loops his arms around Seungkwan, both hands slipping in beside Seungkwan’s in his hoodie. 

Seungkwan, pretending like he didn’t spend the last few hours fretting over the comforting boy behind him, just nods and tightens his grip on his toothbrush, his other hand gathering sweat in the front pocket of his jumper.

“Hey,” Vernon’s left hand pulls out the sausage Seungkwan had bought while his right intertwines with Seungkwan’s. “I know I’m not the best at talking, but I meant what I said earlier.”

Despite himself, Seungkwan smiles a toothpaste grin, and squeezes gently the knuckles that slot almost-too-perfectly between his own. He feels silly for overthinking it all, because Vernon seemed so sure earlier, and Seungkwan thinks that the vibrating of his heart that settles to a calm thumming is sure of it too. 

Vernon pulls away to unwrap the sausage as Seungkwan spits into the sink, “Me too.”

“What, you genuinely think that I hate you?” Vernon asks, not at all believing the words in his mouth. (Seungkwan is grateful for Vernon’s steadfast mind and self-assurance — there’s no telling what Seungkwan might believe in the spur of the moment.) He bites into the sausage, causing Seungkwan to groan in disgust.

“After that, now  _ I’m  _ the one who can’t stand you. How is that  _ swallowable _ ? You  _ just _ cleaned your teeth,” Seungkwan mutters disdainfully, as if he isn’t grinning like an idiot as Vernon leans against the counter just to retangle their hands. He leans closer to the mirror, their shoulders bumping, under the guise of inspecting his spots. “And no, I meant, like, I feel the same way.”

Vernon jostles the duo sideways to try to catch Seungkwan’s eye. “Really? You didn’t want to avoid me out of awkwardness?”

Seungkwan can’t say no to that, because technically, that was what he had intended. But probably not in the way Vernon was assuming.

“I mean.” Linking his arm through Vernon’s, Seungkwan reassures himself that whilst new, consistency is stable, and Vernon isn’t someone he wants to let go of any time soon. “Why else would I stick around someone who enjoys toothpaste-flavoured sausages?”


	2. dragons or dragonflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for discussions and doubts of body image, canon-typical weight monitoring and dieting. also very vague mentions of sex.

The second time he trades bubbly confidence for tar-like doubt, the thin fabric of his t-shirt is slicked to his back with sweat. Seungkwan knows he should shower, just as he knows that he can sing well enough to be an idol and that he mustn’t skip a weekend in his schedule of calling home to his mother no matter how busy he pretends to be. But it’s also hard to just do things sometimes, because puberty is one son of a bitch, and when the adults in charge of your future take you into a large white room alone and tell you to watch what you eat compared to the others, to skip a meal or two, to remember it’s apart of achieving the dream, you sort of don’t want to exist in your own skin a lot. And also because, there’s showering, and then there’s  _ showering together,  _ and bless his great aunt’s sweet soul, but why the everloving fuck did he join a company with over a dozen young male trainees? 

The coarseness of the cheap towel in his hands is grounding, Seungkwan’s grip taut as he shifts from foot to foot. Half the group is laying in front of squeaky fans on the communal living room floor, the other slipping in and out of the bathroom at an unhaulting pace. Seungkwan is standing in the middle of the room he shares with the younger members, alone and thinking. He’s not hiding (he’s _ not _ ) but he feels guilty, eyes darting from the instant ramen packets he’d snuck in to stash under his mattress and the curve of his stomach that barely overhangs his toes if he looks down. He’s never been slim, he’s not wiry like Wonu or muscular like Seungcheol, and, not to boost the egos of his hyungs, his body clearly is the only one who didn’t get the memo that idols are supposed to be handsome. There’s a knock on the door as he’s staring, which is shocking enough in a house of 12 boys with no sense of personal space, let alone when there’s guilt weighing down Seungkwan’s shoulders.

It makes sense, in a very nonsensical way, that it is Vernon’s face that greets Seungkwan’s as he bashfully looks up. He hopes his eyes aren’t puffy from his crying earlier. (Vernon doesn’t mention it, even if they are.) 

“Hey Sollie,” Seungkwan grins, mask back on, plastered face smoothing out the frown lines and furrowed brow. “What’s up?”

“Seungkwan,” Vernon says, serious as he assesses the sweat soaked shirt and unwashed hair and hands gripping pajamas in one and a towel in the other. Seungkwan hopes his legs cover the ramen he didn’t have time to tuck away. (A voice deep in his lungs tells him that he’s wide enough to hide the whole bed from view.)  Vernon must notice the way Seungkwan feels, balancing on the edge of a razor sharp blade, an eyelash away from tears. “The shower’s free for us. Let’s go, I’m tired and want to sleep soon.”

Seungkwan checks if it’s a trap, an invitation to open up and talk and cry which, as much as he knows would help, he wants nothing to do with. But Vernon’s expression is open and concerned but still understanding, easily reading Seungkwan like the back of his own palm. Seungkwan bends to pick up the toiletry bag at his feet and tries not to be conscious of the space he occupies. Vernon waits by the door. 

Vernon, ever the handsome visual, lean and steadily getting taller, building muscle from being one of the dancers in the group, teeth getting straighter with every orthodontist visit, should be a point of envy for Seungkwan. But as the other strips off his shirt and leans to turn on the shower, back muscles rippling, Seungkwan doesn’t even think of his own body. Seungkwan is consumed by every freckle and mole that settle on his shoulders like fresh snow, each plane of skin that glides with movement and intent, the dip of each elbow and the curve of each rib. There’s no gnawing darkness that sloshes in his stomach, no tell-tale envy that causes him to shower once the others have fallen asleep in the first place. Seungkwan doesn’t want to own his skin, but at least in this moment he wants to own another’s, to be the first to map and trace and document the topography of Vernon’s landscape and conquer his beautiful mind. 

When the boy turns slowly, he’s smiling bashfully, ears red. The déjà vu catapults Seungkwan to the present, who notices all at once his outreached palm and his own gaze in the reflection of the mirror. Seungkwan splutters, throat closing around an apology, but Vernon just laughs softly, with him not at him, and takes his hand. Seungkwan tries to not imagine what could happen, instead, feels the squeeze of Vernon’s knuckles against his own, feels the absence of thoughts about the size of his fingers and squishiness of his palm that never arrive, feels the air grow warm around him as the shower gradually heats up. Vernon drops his hand to continue getting undressed, so Seungkwan does the same if only to ensure Vernon doesn’t feel awkward. He’s slowly discovering that about himself, he urges often to do whatever he can to make Vernon comfortable. Nakedness in itself isn’t foriegn (they both have been trainees for several months) but there’s an element of reverence that clings to the condensation in the air which feels green to Seungkwan. 

 

Vernon slips under the spray, hair sticking flat to his head and eyes full of mirth despite squinting away from stray splashes. Then he presses closer to the wall and turns, tipping his head in invitation. Seungkwan stands clueless and cold, the soaps his mother sends in care packages weighted in his palm. Vernon doesn’t move or speak, until Seungkwan flips the cap on his shampoo and lathers it between his hands, when he hums softly. When it comes to Seungkwan, not a lot goes unspoken. But he’s learning, resting a gentle elbow against the younger’s shoulder in warning before threading his fingers carefully through the soft brown curls. 

 

They’re silent, nothing but the sound of water pelting the shower floor, as Seungkwan shampoos and rinses Vernon’s hair, passes his body wash over the others shoulder and swaps positions once the other is clean. Seungkwan, in a fit of bravery or stupidity or tiredness, doesn’t turn away, holding Vernon’s gaze as the water cascades down his weary body. His hands don’t spend too long in one place, efficiently washing the skin he doesn’t want, but his eyes remain unmoving as they drill into Vernon’s.

 

Vernon, calm and pensive, breaks the silence. “I don’t like whatever they told you.” Seungkwan’s breath spikes. “When you were held back before lunch the other day.” 

 

Seungkwan appreciates the clarification, (he knows Vernon has been working hard on communicating every step of his thoughts, not just whatever step he’s on,) but not the direction of the conversation. He’s already vulnerable, bare in front of a boy who is becoming, and now smells like, home, so he’s not sure if his insecurities will be dragons or dragonflies if he releases them here. 

 

“You don’t have to- We don’t have to talk about it.” Vernon says, his steady voice a rail for Seungkwan to cling to instead of flinching as Vernon reaching up to wash his hair. “But I- we all miss you, as you were before.”

 

His face cradled by two tan arms, his skull surrendered to rhythmic fingers, Seungkwan tries not to protest. He understood that he was on the chubby side for the industry, certainly more so than a lot of the other auditionees at every gig, if not every one of his peers. But his mum had told him that he simply needed more space to hold his bigger voice, his bigger laugh, his bigger heart. Seungkwan never expected himself to doubt his mother’s words. 

 

“Kwan, look at me,” Vernon says calmly, so he does. “One day, you’ll understand what I know of you, and none of these yucky thoughts will impact you,” he smiles, tapping his sudsy nails against the sides of Seungkwan’s head. “But for now, you have to trust me.” 

 

Seungkwan sighs and rocks on his heels, tipping his head to rinse his hair. He’s tempted to crumple to the ground, press himself against the cool white tiles until he takes up no more space than a bottlecap, but instead, he glares at the ceiling. 

 

“I don’t want this body. I don’t want a body. If I can’t have a body like the hyungs’ or yours, then what is the point of one at all?” He whispers, praying the soundwaves get gobbled by gurgles of water. 

 

Vernon’s hands drop from their steady hold by his temples. The absence makes the edges of his body feel infinitely more vivid.

 

“I’m sorry, all this wouldn’t have helped,” Vernon says hurriedly from anxious lips, the tone making Seungkwan right his posture immediately and reach toward the other. His hands find purchase on the younger’s shoulders, thumbs gravitating without thought to the dip of his defined collarbones. 

 

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan says, but only realises the heaviness of such words in such a position with such a person a moment too late. “This-I’m-You- You help. Sol, I swear. You don’t make it worse.”

 

“That’s not the same as helping,” he says warily, but his feet are firmly planted. 

 

“You always help-” Seungkwan takes a breath, his own condescending scolds of ‘communication is important’ echoing in his mind, “me. You always help me. Always.”

 

Seungkwan knows Vernon’s face well enough to notice the cracks of his worried frown, to see the subtle dip of his lips as they fight a flustered smile. “Finished?” 

 

Seungkwan just hums and reached behind himself to shut off the water, one hand still firmly planted on the join of Vernon’s neck and shoulder. Now with the water no longer a beacon of heat, his body litters with goosebumps in the chill, and his mind jumps to ‘always helping’ and wet skin and bare bodies and different types of goosebumps. Nothing he could ever ask for, sure, but a jolt of an electric promise all the same. His hand feels tacky as he lifts it away from Vernon’s space. The other doesn’t comment on the haste with which Seungkwan pulls on his baggy hoodie and sweatpants, nor the way the situation aches with similarity as they stand side by side to brush their teeth. He blinks sleepily as he lets Seungkwan fill the gaps with gentle singing, knowing Seungkwan is craving an easier air. He silently grabs his own toiletries, filled with his own soap from home, that Seungkwan only just now notices. Ever observant, he doesn’t cling to Seungkwan’s waist, instead holding firm on his nape as they retreat to their room. They pass Seungcheol with his worried eyes, and find Chan and Samuel are fast asleep in their room. Vernon looks like he contemplates curling into Seungkwan’s bottom bunk, but doesn’t. Instead, he tucks himself into Seungkwan’s arms. The soft curls of his hair tickle Seungkwan’s nose, smelling of his old pillow in Jeju-do and every dream of home he’s had since he abandoned it. He gets now why Vernon left his toiletries on the sink, as his arms tighten around his best friend. His best friend, who is becoming, and now smells, like his very own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talk to me on [cc](www.curiouscat.me/bledis_boos) or [twit](https://twitter.com/kinglychan).


End file.
